The 6th Quarter Quell
by sims2freaktron
Summary: The 6th Quarter Quell. The 150th Hunger Games. The rebellion never happened. District 13 never survived. The Capitol must send two of their own children to play in the Hunger Games. Can these children survive?
1. The 150th Games Announcement

The whole population of the capital crowds around the stage as President Obsidian Fletcher takes a step up onto the metallic platform, her black heels tapping as she walks. "Greetings, people of Panem." She speaks into the microphone, her dark, soulless black eyes dart around the crowd as she clears her throat. "In just a few minutes, the first of the districts will begin their reaping. As you know, it is the sixth Quarter Quell, and every quell, as a reminder to the districts to not rebel, we have a twist in the games." A man hands a old, grey box that holds notecards for over a hundred quarter quells, created one-hundred-and-fifty years ago by the founders of Panem.

President Fletcher took the box carefully. It was worn down from over the years, and she thumbed through the cards until she found the one she was looking for.

"For the One-hundredth-and-fifty Quarter Quell, to remind the districts of their pitiful loss in the Rebellion, children from not only the twelve districts, but also from the capitol will be reaped to become tributes in the Games."


	2. Choosing of the Girl Tribute

Screams came from the distraught audience, and a few dramatic women and men fainted. The children old enough to know what was going on, started crying. They were expecting another year of suspense and action to watch while they dyed their hair for the fifteenth time that week.

"I know ask that all twelve through eighteen year olds step up and leave the city circle and go to the Town Banquet Hall. You're names are already entered into the drawing, each person only once. Thank you, and let the one-hundred-and-fiftieth Hunger Games begin!" President Fletcher raised her pointy chin up high as she said this, as her stringy brown hair fell into her black eyes. The crowd roared in objection, and many people began throwing different things at the president. Many peacemakers rushed to the scene and began beating the offenders. Fletcher left the stage calmly, just to go to the Banquet Hall and choose a boy and girl tribute from the glass balls set up.

All of the three-thousand teenagers lined up by age filled the halls, their weeping echoing through the cold building. As the president stepped up, a sixteen year old boy with blue hair and many piercings, screamed, "This is horrible! Pick another card! Anything but this madness!" His voice choked and he hid his face from the cameras that were airing and pointed at him. Fletcher said nothing as the crowd of children grew silent. The reached her skinny, pale hands into the glass ball and moved her hand around. Nobody dared breathe. Everyone, no matter if they hated each other or not, held each others hand tightly. President Fletcher grabbed a piece of paper, and pulled it out. The suspense was too much for one girl, who ran out crying, her genetically modified 'mood hair' turning black. Fletchers cold, emotionless face creased into a frown as she read the girl tribute's name.

She almost choked on her words.

"Rainee Fletcher."

The president's own granddaughter was chosen to be a tribute.


	3. Rainee

What? What did she say? My mind is going so slow and my vision is blurred. I think my grandmother just said my name. I feel myself falling. "Rainee!" My best friend, Delta, grabs my arm and hoists me back up. Her rainbow colored eyes are dark and mournful. "What just happened?" I asked, dazed as I brushed my blue hair out of my eyes. "You're the girl tribute." Delta said and wiped her nose on her long, purple sleeve. She wasn't one to cry easily. I could see the resistance in her eyes. I begin to blink, not even beginning to process what just happened. I look around. Everybody is looking at me. Even Denim. Denim is looking at me. The one who screamed at my grandmother earlier.

I like Demin. I have liked him, and he doesn't like me back. I know this for a fact, at how he glares at me. His father was killed in a murder involving my father and uncle. He hates my grandmother. He hates my family. He hates me.

I can't help it, what they did. I love Denim, and he's all I ever think about. Out of all the people I could like, my heart chooses him. I can't even bear to look at him. I don't even know why I like him. Is it his tan skin, or gray eyes? His grandparents moved from District 12 to live here. Blue isn't really his hair color. It's not mine, either. I dyed it to look like his. My hair is actually a ginger, and with my white skin and freckles, I looked horrendous. I got the freckles removed and my hair dyed when I was thirteen. That was two years ago, when I was absolutely obsessed with looking pretty.

I slowly walk up to the stage, and avoid any eye contact with my grandmother, who I stand next to while she draws the boy name. I glance over at the piece of paper.

My grandmother says loudly, "The boy tribute will be Mitta Cornask." I looked over into the crowd. A boy with skin dyed green and short blonde hair stood up with absolute fear in his shiny, gold eyes. Mitta hesitates and takes a very slow step onto the stage, right next to me. I keep my head lowered to the ground, still trying to keep my eyes, which were watering up, avoiding anybody. All of a sudden, a voice screams out. "I volunteer!"

I look up. Denim Coleins scrambles up to the stage and nudged Mitta off, who's eyes are glazed over from fear. Mitta runs off and exits the Banquet Hall.

Denim stands up and looks straight at me. I count the seconds we are staring into each other's eyes. One...two...three...

I couldn't stand it anymore. I knew why he volunteered.

He wants to kill me.


End file.
